Till death do us part
by Andie Leigh
Summary: The story of Bellamy and Clarke from beginning to end. *Rated for cursing*


It starts like this.

Bellamy Blake is four years old when he meets Clarke Griffin. He's only barely a bundle of dark curls and grinning cheek, and she's even less, a tiny figure bathed in the gentle coos of the adults surrounding them.

She has bright blue eyes and tiny rosebud lips that enclose around squealing giggles as he approaches her small figure warily, trapped in the heat of his mother's arms. She stretches out her minute, chubby arms towards him, fisting her hand in thin air, trying in vain to clutch at the boy.

"Come on Bell, it's okay." His mother soothes, seeing his reluctance towards Clarke. Bellamy only briefly flashes his gaze towards her, before, at last, stopping in front of the smallest Griffin, whereas the baby can finally grab at his shirt.

She giggles again, and a gentle smile slips onto Bellamy's features – far too gentle of a four year old boy that, only hours before, had been laughing as his mother had chased him roaring around the house, bright red lipstick fisted in his small, tanned fist, and the evidence of it painted artfully across his features, joining each individual freckle like a dot-to-dot, and smeared across his lips, screaming "I'm aunty Abby! I'm aunty Abby!"

The woman in question now smiled down at the two young ones in blissful ignorance, Clarke stuffing Bellamy's finger in her mouth, while Aurora tried fruitlessly to quieten her rising laughter at the slight smear in Abby's lipstick (bright red, of course).

"She's pretty awesome, huh, buddy?" Jake Griffin asked, squatting down to Bellamy's level.

The boy nodded vehemently, and in earnest, as Clarke's bright blue eyes blinked innocently up at him, pressing soft fingers down the slope of his nose.

"So small." Bellamy whispered gently, turning to look at Jake as Clarke's tiny palm continued to probe along the features of his face.

Jake nodded. "That's right. So you gotta be extra careful, okay buddy?" He said, trailing a rough thumb down Clarke's cheek, embracing his daughter in a loving gaze, to which she laughed.

"Yeah." Bellamy said wistfully, his uncultivated, young mind failing to grasp how he could have once feared this girl, even, resented her.

Bellamy Blake was adored. It was fact. Since he'd been old enough to coo, he'd been gleefully smothered in love and almost-worship from his family, and extended family.

His mother had found what seemed to be life-long companions in her neighbours, the Griffins, when she'd moved in five years ago. Her husband, Bellamy's father, had deserted her less than a year later, when he had learned about her pregnancy with Bellamy. She'd been more than devastated, but Abby and Jake had been there to support her through everything, to which, she felt imperishable debt to them, as were it not for their unwavering kindness and love, it was true that Bellamy may not have been with them today.

So yes, the three had found sanctuary within each other, and when Bellamy had arrived, the born hell-raiser he was, he'd quickly grown accustomed to the looming, comforting presence of aunt Abby and uncle Jake.

Yet when Bellamy had learned of Clarke, the tiny bundle unfurling in his absolute-favourite aunties stomach, though he couldn't completely understand how Abby had fit a real-life _person _in there, the thought of suddenly not being the apple of his small family's eye had dawned on him.

The thought of _new baby _being important had left him stunted, and more, concerned. This was a brand new experience for the four year old, and though unable to identify it, he certainly hadn't liked it.

And so, when Aurora had announced to Bellamy that the baby was here, and come meet her, Bellamy had sulked and refused to come out of his room.

The charade had carried on for three months, though Bellamy had finally cracked when Abby had started to cry and Jake's voice had cracked as he pleaded for the boy to come and meet her.

Now, as Aurora settled Clarke gently into Bellamy's eager arms, there was nothing he could think, but truly, why he'd waited so long to meet her.

Aurora was pregnant.

She hadn't exactly been spreading the news around, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the prompt swelling of her stomach, and the way her walk was slowly transforming into more of a waddle.

It'd only been a year since Clarke's birth (they'd celebrated her first birthday two weeks ago, and she'd stuck like glue to Bellamy's side when she saw all the unfamiliar faces of her parents friends, and their children), but already Bellamy's opinion of her had changed vastly.

He loved her; with all the heart a five year old could love someone. He'd plait her hair (he was the only one she'd actually ever let near it), sing her lullaby's until she fell asleep in his lap, and when she cried, it seemed that, sometimes, he could be the only one to soothe her.

Now, as his mother sat him down and announced that he was soon going to have a little sister, another little Clarke running around, he didn't know how to react.

On one hand, he knew Clarke's arrival had only brought happiness to all his family (even if aunty Abby did sometimes complain – 'GODDAMMIT JAKE SHE'S BLOODY NOCTURNAL'), and he couldn't imagine a life without her. So, would it be so bad to have another one running around?

On the other, he knew that this baby would not be another Clarke. He knew, all people were different, and no one was quite like Clarke, no one was quite as brilliant, quite as loving as she already was, even so young.

His little sister would be brand new, and not knowing what to expect was quite scary, not knowing who this tiny person inside his mother was terrifying.

But his mother was expecting an answer, or at least, some form of response he knew, so Bellamy smiled, hugged his mother and kissed her stomach.

And despite his undeniable qualms and fears, later that night, while his aunt and uncle cooked Aurora her favourite meal in the kitchen, and Clarke slept soundly in her crib, Bellamy silently walked over to where his mother dozed on the couch and placed a tentative hand on her stomach, pressing his ear against it, and leaning down to whisper: "I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise."

He scampered away as his mother turned in her sleep and Clarke suddenly let out a sharp cry upon realising Bellamy had moved away. He gently rocked her back to sleep, and let himself imagine what it might be like, to hold his little sister for the first time.

Jake's the one to tell him his mother's gone away.

His uncle is crying, and holding Bellamy by the shoulders as he explains that, his mother was very, very tired after giving birth to his sister, and that she's gone to sleep now, and she's going to be asleep for quite a long time.

He has never seen his uncle cry.

Bellamy becomes panicked by the tears, and begins to struggle in the older man's grip. He thrashes violently, hits and bites at the hands that hold him in place, and starts screaming for his mother.

He tears away from Jakes grip for only a second, but it's enough time for him to sprint down the halls, towards the sound of an ear-splitting shriek, and the familiar silhouette of his aunt standing behind a glass door.

He knows Jake's behind him, hears the heavy thud of his boots against the hospital floor, but everything seems to collide in a moment, his senses clash violently against each other until he distinguish what he hears and sees and smells, and the world around him seems to spin and fade.

He whips into the room, with the sound of his own breath looming at his ears. His mother is lying on the bed, sleeping.

Except, he can't remember her being that pale.

Her eyes are wide open, but she's not really seeing anything. Her mouth hangs half open in a stilled gasp, and a lifeless hand seems to claw at her heart, dig through her chest. Just this morning she had been so vibrant, her green eyes squinting as she pulled a face at him, hands reaching to probe along his sides, eliciting bursts of laughter. She'd hugged him close, and he'd remembered not feeling safer than when she held him, so warm.

She looks so cold now.

Abby tries to pull him away but he screams until the walls seem to shudder around him, fighting against her as he's never done before. Finally Jake pulls him away, picking the boy up and hoisting him over his shoulder as a man dressed in white pulls a sheet over his mother's form, and as he's carried out of the room, sobbing and without a voice left to scream, he catches sight of her hand, her pale fingers stretched out in what seems to be a plea to be held.

He reaches towards her, too slow, as the door slams shut with a final, indefinite click.

He calls for his sister next.

Eventually he stops struggling, stops crying, and without any energy left to stand on, falls into a dead sleep in Jake's arms, where he finds he is not quite too exhausted to dream of his mother's dead eyes, and her last words, that he never got to hear.

The funeral is four weeks later.

It is a sombre affair, with only four attending. Bellamy knows his mother would never have minded such a small number of guests.

_"Does it make you sad, mommy?" _He'd asked her once, a time that seems ages away now.

_"Does what make me sad, honey?" _She'd replied, smiling as she scrubbed at an old saucepan.

_"That we don't have more sisters and brothers and daddy and grand-mommy and grand-daddy?" _He'd asked, putting down a blue crayon.

Aurora had stilled, striped off her yellow gloves and reached down to kiss his head and hold him in a gentle hug.

_"No, baby it doesn't. Because I have you, your aunty and uncle and baby Clarke, and we might not be a big family, but we love each other more than any big family I know. And that's all I need, and that's all I'm ever going to need."_

Bellamy looks down at Octavia now, smaller than Clarke had ever been, and wishes that she could have met their mother, so she could've felt the love he always had.

Clarke sits in her pram next to him, in tiny black boots and a poufy black dress, and as a single tear drops down his freckled cheeks, her small fingers reach to clutch fiercely at his hand. As he looks down at her, her bright blue eyes seem to say more than her aunt and uncle ever could.

Living with the Griffins could be difficult sometimes.

Take today for example, the day of Clarke's fourth birthday.

Now, Bellamy loved Clarke. He had done so for four years , and there was nothing in this world, he knew that would ever change or belittle that love.

Or at least, that was what he'd thought, until he'd met the guests of Clarke's birthday party.

One. By. One.

From what he could tell, they weren't really her friends, more, the children of her _parents _friends (except maybe one – that Wells Jaha kid, she seemed to like him), but that didn't stop any of them being any less annoying.

They ran around the house joyfully and _loudly, _letting out loud giggles and leaving a definite trail of cake and spit. Bellamy withheld a gag as he picked up a piece of half-chewed cake and tossed it into the bin.

He didn't know what to do with himself. The adults congregated in both the kitchen and sitting room, discussing disgustingly boring subjects like politics and baby clothes. He would've sat with Octavia and Clarke, had they not both been a part of the trail of destruction touring around the house.

He sighed, heading out to the back garden and ungracefully falling onto the paint-peeling swing.

Truthfully, he was a little hurt. He'd woken up hoping to spend the day with Clarke and Octavia, and give Clarke her present privately. It wasn't anything fancy or glamorous, but something he knew she'd have appreciated, if not now, then when she got a little older. It was a collage of the three, over all the time they'd spent together, and between the snipping, gluing and creating, he'd spent at least a month on it, counting down the days when he could present it to her, glad to know that he'd be the cause of her funny little smile, point out all his favourite parts.

But then Abby had told him about the party, and in the midst of the excitement, Clarke had been pulled into it, laughing and clapping as each partygoer arrived.

They weren't even her _friends. _He was her friend, he was her best friend.

Or, he'd spent the last four years thinking he was.

It was times like this, times when he was sad and alone that he thought of his mother, even if he didn't want to.

"Bellamy!" Came a familiar voice from the opening of the glass sliding doors. He turned slightly in his seat, and grinned as he saw Clarke approaching, alone.

He'd spent the last four years thinking right.

"Hey there birthday girl!" He called, jogging to meet her and to swing her body through the air as he picked her up. She giggled, and tugged on his dark curls to be let down.

"Let's go on the swing!" She cried, pulling his lanky frame with her as she strode towards the seat.

Bellamy laughed, and helped her sit, before pulling the seat back and sending her flying through the air. She screamed through her uncontrollable laughter, enjoying the moment as much as he was.

"I think we just made a new tradition!" He said through his own laughter at her simple joy of the moment. He suddenly couldn't remember ever feeling hurt that she hadn't wanted to spend time with him, and they sat out there for what seemed like hours, laughing and swinging, and Bellamy chasing her through the large garden until she squealed. Octavia joined them eventually, and the three truly did laugh for hours, until Abby and Jake came out to find them and they hid in the shrubbery, desperately repressing giggles.

That night, Bellamy and Clarke tiptoed through the house silently as he led her to her birthday present. He presented her the collage nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to another as she stared at it, until finally, she set it aside slowly, and jumped at him, hugging his legs tightly as he let out a sigh of relief.

They stayed up late that night, a blanket over their heads to not wake Octavia, and a torch pointed at Clarke's present as Bellamy gestured to all his favourite parts, and Clarke, hers.

When Clarke's eyes started to flicker, her head falling onto his shoulder, Bellamy shut off the torch, and told her a story.

The story was of a princess and a knight.

How the knight loved his princess, and how he'd do anything for her.

"Anything?" Clarke asked through a yawn, half asleep at his side.

"Yes," Bellamy replied, smoothing down the tangles in her hair. "Anything."

She was angry at him again.

Only six, and already Clarke had developed a fierce temper that, while not often seen, was worse than anything when it was.

Bellamy didn't even know what he'd done to deserve her scowls across the dinner table, her shoulder barging whenever she passed him, and even worse, her silence.

She hadn't spoken to him in a _week._

7 days.

168 hours.

10,080 minutes.

604,800 seconds.

It's not like he was counting or anything, though.

He'd tired, he really had, to speak to her, to ask her what was wrong, to get her to say _something_ to him, but she'd been as stubborn as ever, refusing to utter a single word even when he'd stolen a cookie off her plate (eaten it too, just to see her reaction. Other than pursing her lips – nothing.).

And now he was _missing _her worse than anything.

He fell into a stool deflated as Jake wiped away the last remnants of crumbs along the work surface.

"What's up, buddy?" He asked, as Bellamy shrunk into himself, his head falling into his palm.

"Clarke's mad at me." He grumbled, and Jake laughed.

"I'd noticed. What did you do?" He asked, crossing his arms across his chest expectantly.

"I don't know! And she won't speak to me, so I don't know what I'm supposed to be saying sorry for." Bellamy said gloomily, looking up as Jake braced his arms against the now- clean counter.

"What should I do, uncle?" Bellamy asked him, awaiting words of wisdom and advice.

Jake merely shrugged, offering a small smile. "Hell if I know."

Bellamy rolled his eyes good-heartedly, pushing off the stool and heading upstairs as he thanked his uncle for his _awesome _advice.

"Hey, Bell?" Jake called, causing Bellamy to hang over the stair railing as he looked over.

"Yeah?" He replied

"She's missing you too, you know that right?" Jake asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at the shock on Bellamy's face.

"She-she is?" Bellamy asked, completely aware of the slight falter in his voice.

" 'Course she is meathead. She loves you." Jake replied, rolling his eyes with a smile still in place.

Bellamy nodded slightly, and, with new-found determination, began to trek up the varnish-coated stairs, heading straight towards a single, green door.

Clarke's room.

He opened the door, walking in unannounced as she lay on her bed, colouring book splayed out in front of her (she always coloured _inside _the lines, no matter how many times Bellamy tried to show her the fun of scribbling outside of them).

"Hey!" She shouted as he strode over to her, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest, dark brow furrowing as he stared at her.

"Why are you mad at me?" He asked quietly, though refusing to alter his gaze from her harsh stare, as he had been doing for the last week.

She levelled his look, mirroring his posture and gestures as she stood in front of him, having jumped up from her original position of lying down on the bed.

"Go away."

"No!" He shot back, seeing her double take at not only his word, but his tone of voice. He'd never used that harsh, obstinate tone with her before, and she decided that she didn't like stubborn Bellamy.

She lifted her chin up, sniffing once, before shouting, "GO AWAY!"

He didn't flinch.

"First you have to tell me why you're being mean." He said as she gasped.

"I'm not being mean! You were being mean!" She shot back, seemingly incredulous.

"No! You haven't spoken to me all week!" He replied, equally as shocked as she seemed to be.

"Well," She said, turning her head to the side, "that's because you were mean."

"I WASN'T MEAN!" He suddenly shouted, arms dropping as he became fed up with the constant stream of the word.

"YES YOU WERE! YOU PLAYED WITH LINCOLN!" Clarke roared into the room, hands fisted at her sides.

He stared at her, confusion and shock mingling on his face. She dropped suddenly, scrambling back onto her bed as quiet sobs escaped her. Bellamy immediately launched into action, sitting next to her on the bed and stroking her hair as she let him pull her to him, crying into his shoulder.

"You were playing with Lincoln all day and-" she hiccupped through her mixture of explanation and tears, and he soothed her gently. She moved her head from his shoulder, red streaks down her face as her watery blue eyes blinked up at him.

"You were playing with him all day, and you never laugh that much when we play." She said quietly, burying her head in his shoulder, seeking comfort from his tall frame.

He placed his hand over hers, rubbing her thumb gently with his, and she sniffed, entwining them together tightly.

"Clarke." He said quietly, causing her to look up at him before he continued.

"You are my best friend in the whole wide world. I love you and Octavia the most out of every one ever, I promise. Lincoln is only my friend – he isn't my _best _friend like you. No-one's like you." He says and it sounds like a promise.

Clarke smiles at him and hugs his waist, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He smiles and hugs her back, probing along her sides until she laughs.

Yeah, there was no-one quite like Clarke Griffin.

Bellamy was starting high school. And he was petrified.

It was his freshman year, and he'd heard all kind of stories about the horrors that the hell of high school offered, and after the years spent in the happy seclusion and shelter of elementary school, he was inclined to believe the tales.

Abby and Jake had expressed nothing but pride in him, and he'd put on a good enough show that they believed he was okay, and more than willing to start at high school, happy even.

Maybe he could make it as an actor if all else failed.

Octavia had been harder to convince, but at nine years old, it'd been easy enough to distract her with ice cream and Twinkies.

He lay on the wooden floor of his bedroom (the one he had originally shared with Octavia and Clarke when the two had moved in after his mother's death, but as the three had gotten older, Jake and Abby had split the girls up into their own room and Bellamy his, claiming that they'd 'need your space as you get older, kiddies'), wishing he could stay younger for just a little longer.

He groaned loudly, pressing his hands against his eyes in order to block out the hazy evening sun just spilling into the room, alerting him that the day was nearing its end, and that the next morning, he'd be starting high school.

He wanted to crawl into a ball and die.

The creak of his wooden door sounded in the room, but Bellamy didn't move from his position, knowing already who it would be.

Clarke lay down next to him, close enough that her soft hair tickled against his cheek.

"It won't be that bad, Bell." She said quietly, leaning over to rest her head on his shoulder, and place her shorter legs atop his longer ones.

"How'd you do that?" He mumbled through his hands.

"Do what?" She asked smiling, pulling his hands away from his face.

He rested his chin atop her head of wavy curls, sighing. "Always know when I'm feeling crappy." He replied.

She shouldered him gently. "Because I'm awesome." She teased, earning a light chuckle from Bellamy.

He sighed, then gently pushed her away, sitting up and leaning against his headboard as she sat opposite him.

"I'm really scared, Clarke." He whispered, imploring her bright blue eyes to reassure him as they always did.

"You'll be fine, Bell." She spoke softly, wanting nothing more than to hug away his worries and concerns in that moment. "I promise to beat up anyone that's mean to you ever, because you're my absolute best friend ever." She said triumphantly, nodding to herself as Bellamy let out a hearty laugh.

He stood up, ruffled her hair, and grinned down at the girl, before setting off in a run.

"Race you to the swing!"

Bellamy winced as the front door clicked shut. Did it have to be so _loud?_

In hindsight, going to a party at 12.a.m may have not been the best idea he'd ever had, but he really couldn't label it the worst, as he'd had more than a little fun that night (it didn't have anything to do with the bright red hickeys on his neck of course, no, not at all).

He sighed, wincing as the morning sun drifted in through the closed blinds, knowing Abby and Jake would be asleep soundly upstairs on their one day off.

From what he could tell, being a doctor sucked.

Especially when you were both doctors, married, and essentially had three children, one of whom was a disobedient teenager.

Guilt stabbed at him as he realised how much of a dick he'd been to them lately, and he silently promised to make it up to them soon.

A fleck of blonde caught his eye, and he glanced over to see Clarke collapsed on the couch. He cursed, walking over to her sleeping form, and effortlessly hauling her nimble body into his arms.

The eleven-year old stirred, eyes blinking open as she caught sight of him. "Bell?" She asked, voice hoarse and thick with sleep.

"Hey, princess. Feel like telling me why you were asleep on the couch?" He whispered as he carried her up the stairs, towards her bedroom.

"I was… waiting for you. You said, you said you'd draw with me." She said back, slowly becoming more aware of her surroundings.

The guilt spiked up again, but harsher this time, as Bellamy recalled the earlier night.

_"I'm busy, Clarke. Go paint or something, okay?"_

_"But, Bell, you said you'd draw with me! You won't spend any time with me!"_

He'd agreed, just to get her off his back. He'd snuck out later that night, he remembered, where Clarke must have been waiting for him downstairs.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Clarke. Uh, something, something came up, but another time, okay?" He said. Just as he reached her door, she pushed against his chest suddenly, and when he didn't immediately let her go, tugged on his hair harshly.

He winced, letting her down where the hurt glistened in her eyes.

"Just forget it. Go draw with Lincoln or something." She said, wrapping her arms around herself as she retreated into her room, her normally confident posture slumping.

"Princess-" He tried, stepping forward a little to block her door. She turned towards him sharply, gripping her handle tightly.

"Don't call me that." She bit out, he could tell, only just refraining from slamming the door in his face.

He sighed, head hanging, as he retreated back to his own room, suddenly feeling a whole new level of asshole.

It was her anniversary.

It'd been ten years since his mother's death.

He lay the wilted tulips on the soil carefully, running his hand over the smoothness of her gravestone, fingers trembling as he looped over the words.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF:

Aurora Blake

April 21st 1969 – July 2nd 2002

Beloved mother and friend

We miss you

Bellamy's hands shook as he reached the end of the tombstone. It was true, he missed her every day since he'd lost her.

"Hey mom." He began slowly, wishing he didn't sound as unsteady as he felt.

"I know it's been a while since I came to see you, I'm sorry, I've been kind of a dick lately. Not just to you, to everyone." He looked down at his hands in undeniable shame.

"Clarke's mad at me again. I hate it when she's mad at me. Especially when I deserve it. She's so…she's perfect. Even if she hates me right now." He laughed through the tears that he knew would come.

"She's still my best friend, though. You'd love her, ma, she's everything you'd said she'd be. And Octavia..." Bellamy pulled in a harsh breath, shuddering through the weight his words held.

"Octavia is more than I could ever ask for in my little sister. You were wrong though, when you said she'd be like Clarke. She's more like me, in the way that she's a little devil." He was sobbing now, tears that couldn't be stopped as the words continued.

"She looks like you. She's got your hair, and your eyes, and she's so much like you. I see her in you every day, and it really fucking hurts." He took a breath to try and calm himself, but there was no stopping the words that came next.

"I love her, mom I swear I do. But sometimes… sometimes I look at her, and I can't help but think, that if she wasn't here, then…" He broke off, scrubbing at his tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve.

"Then I'd still have you." He said roughly, his voice thick and hoarse.

A short, strangled gasp behind him made him turn his head sharply.

Octavia and Clarke stood behind him, clutching each other's hands while Jake and Abby stood a little further off, the shock on their faces evident.

But it was the look on Octavia's that was the most heart breaking.

There was pain there, hurt that she couldn't hope to hide, spread out in front of him, raw and bitter. She was only a little girl, and in confessing to his dead mother how he saw his little sister sometimes, he might have just destroyed her.

"O, O that wasn't what I meant, I-" He began pleadingly, standing to reach towards her. She recoiled from his touch, bringing a hand to quench her sobs, before sprinting away from him, towards the forest.

"O!" He called after her, tearing to chase after her. Jake stopped him, grabbing his shoulder before he could go any further, while Abby chased after the girl, calling her name.

"No, Bellamy, you've done enough." Jake said roughly, even as Bellamy wrenched his shoulder away from his grip.

"I didn't mean to-" Bellamy began desperately, begging Jake to understand words he hadn't meant to say.

"But you did." He said quietly, his eyes hard as he stared at the boy in such a way, that Bellamy sank to the ground beneath him, wanting nothing more than to sink into the earth and dirt, and to rot, as the leaves around him had.

"It's okay. You're okay." It was her, it was always going to be her, he thought as she lifted his head gently, placing it in her lap as he sobbed into her dress.

"I'm sorry, Clarke, I'm so sorry." He wept, curling into a ball as she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him silently, like before, all those times he had done so for her.

Laughter erupted around the table as Jake collapsed back into his seat, pressing a hand to his chest to regain his breath.

Abby shook her head at her husband, but was unable to stop a laugh herself as Jake pulled a pout towards her.

Goddamn, they were trying and Bellamy loved them for it. It was his eighteenth birthday, and he was going to be leaving for college soon, away from home and everything he'd grown up knowing.

It'd taken a long time for Octavia to accept her brother again, and he couldn't blame her. It'd been hard seeing his little sister every day and being unable to meet her eye, the memory of her recoiling away from him still heavy in his heart.

Jake had come to apologize to him some weeks after the incident, pressing a reassuring hand to his shoulder and looking as though he was ready to drop onto his knees and beg for forgiveness, his voice cracking as he uttered out an hour-long apology.

Jake had hurt him. He'd shunned him while Bellamy had been raw, open and vulnerable, and it was a betrayal that cut deep. But as his uncle had caught him in a hug, and Bellamy had caught sight of the grey blossoming in his hair, he'd been forced to accept that he wasn't the only one getting older, and there really was little time to hold grudges, especially against the people he loved.

He only wished Octavia could see it the same way.

It was true the healing process had been slow, and he'd had to earn he trust all over again, but as she sat next to him now, laughing as their uncle continued to pull faces at her, he had no doubt that it had been worth it.

He glanced over at Clarke over the table, smile faltering when he noticed her frown and untouched plate of food. He titled his head to the side silently, and kicked her.

She jumped, looking over to glare at him half-heartedly, which made him frown. Since when did she do _anything _half-heartedly?

_Are you okay? _He mouthed, worry creasing his features. She forced an optimistic grin onto her face and nodded vehemently, which he could've seen through if he was blind.

Because he was _Bellamy _and she was _Clarke _and they always knew when the other was lying.

She sniffed a little and laughed at whatever her father was saying, pretending she couldn't see Bellamy's intense gaze, or feel it on her face as she turned.

She stood suddenly, her too-bright smile fixed in place.

"I'm just going to go and get some fresh air. I'll be right back." She said, stumbling towards the kitchen as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

A murmur went around the table, but Bellamy stood from his seat immediately, already reaching around the table and heading after her.

"I'm just going to go and… explain the rudeness of leaving the table during a meal to her." He said with mock- seriousness, his features pulled down. Jake and Octavia sported identical disbelieving expressions, eyebrows raised higher than Jake's hairline, but Abby nodded her approval, and set back to her meal.

Clarke was curled up on the famous red swing, quietly crying into her knees.

Bellamy rushed over, kneeling in front of her.

"Hey, princess what's wrong?" He said, placing a warm hand on the swing next to where her foot was.

She looked up at him, famous Griffin eyes as bright and blue as ever, and whispered, "I don't want you to go."

He sighed in relief. "God, Clarke I thought something was really wrong." And then realised it was the wrong thing to say half a second later.

Her head shot up from where it had fallen into her knees once more, blind fury blazing in her eyes. She quickly rose from her seat, standing so suddenly that he didn't have time to react, so that he was sprawled out onto his back on the wet grass, groaning on impact.

"Excuse me? Is this _nothing _to you?" She hissed, angrier that he'd ever seen her.

"Clarke, no, that's not what I meant-"

"Then what _did _you mean Bellamy? I've spent the last fourteen years of my life, my _entire _life, with you being there, you at my side. What did you expect, huh? You think I'd be absolutely fine having to say goodbye to my _one _friend, the _one _person I trust more than anything in the world. I'm going to miss you, I _already _miss you, and you haven't even left yet!" She cried despairingly, her words more fear than anger.

Well, now he felt bad.

She turned to storm away from him in an angry huff, her blonde hair flying furiously behind her, but he caught her wrist gently in his palm, wincing at the death-glare she sent him over her shoulder.

"You're right. I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry I did. I'm sorry if I made you think that the last fourteen years were in any way insignificant or trivial, or in at all less unimaginably amazing they have been. I'm sorry, Clarke. Please don't make me leave when you're mad at me. Because you know I hate it-"

"When I'm mad at you." She finished, mumbling the words with her eyes planted firmly on her feet.

His eyes crinkled a little at the sides as he smiled at her, leaning to ruffle her carefully plaited hair. She gasped (through a smile) as she reached to right it, but he pulled her into a hug before she could.

"I'm going to miss you too, you know? But I'll visit you so much you'll get sick of me." He said, pulling away to smile down at her.

She rolled her eyes. "Unlikely."

He grinned. "Now, please tell me you came out here to carry on the tradition. I will be very disappointed if you say no."

She rolled her eyes again, jumping around him to land in her swing seat.

"Of course I did, meathead. But, just so you know, this is a horribly lame tradition."

He sent the swing seat flying for that.

She hated surprises. But he was going through with it anyway.

Over the last two years, he'd flown home a total of four times to see his family. He never got to spend nearly enough time with them, an odd weekend here, an extended bank holiday there, and while college life had proved to be more than a little fun, he couldn't deny that that ache he was feeling was because he was missing them.

He missed Octavia's sarcasm and her bright green eyes.

He missed Jake's terrible advice and almost-hugs.

Goddammit, he even missed Abby's terrible cooking.

He missed Clarke so much that it _hurt_.

But classes came first, so he held onto memories and the occasional skype call when they all weren't too busy for it, and focused on getting his degree in history. He loved it, he really did, but the love for his courses didn't deduct from the loneliness he felt away from his family.

He'd met some people at college that he'd decided were pretty awesome, even had a few girlfriends here and there (one he'd even been serious enough about to take home. Her name was Echo, and Clarke had hated her upon sight. They'd had a big row over her, which had ultimately ended up with Bellamy leaving angry and Echo getting the blunt end of it. They hadn't lasted much longer after that.), and that had _definitely _been a shiny-new experience. But a homebody at heart, Bellamy was almost ready to wave the white flag and surrender.

Summer vacation couldn't come fast enough, and when he did finally finish up with his last class, the first thing Bellamy did was to book a ticket back home.

He'd called ahead to Abby and Jake to let them know when he'd be coming, but on a skype call with Clarke and Octavia, he had mentioned that he wouldn't be home for another couple of weeks, as he had some assignments that he had to finish up.

They'd both been disappointed, but had assured them they understood.

Now, as he stood in the siting room, running his fingers along picture frames absent-mindedly, waiting for Clarke and Octavia to get home, he felt safe in the familiarity of the horrible green couches, and soft purple carpet (Abby called it 'cutting-edge,' while Bellamy found 'puke-stain' was more accurate, and original).

The front door clicked open, and Bellamy turned, his finger slipping away from the dusty frame. Smiling fondly, he made his way over to the archway separating the landing from the sitting room, and leaned his hip against the frame, waiting for Clarke to turn around.

In the months he hadn't seen her, her hair had grown a little, billowing down her back, and she seemed to have gotten a little taller, though she still couldn't reach the top shelf, he thought, as she stretched up to blindly grope for car keys, humming as she did so.

"Need some help?" He offered smugly, though his smirk dropping into more of a tender grin as her head whipped around, sunglasses flying from her top of curls.

She said nothing for a second, but a slow, lazy smile crept onto her lips, and she went flying through the air, jumping up to twine her arms around his neck and wrap her legs around his middle.

He laughed, dropping his bag to hug her back just as tightly as she held him.

She suddenly pulled her head back from where she had buried it in his neck, a playful glare in place.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming back, you dweeb?" She asked, punching him in the shoulder.

Bellamy offered his most charming grin, the one at which would have Echo pulling him needy towards his small bed, but Clarke only raised a single eyebrow, and if her hands had not resumed their position around his neck, she would've most definitely crossed them across her chest.

He shrugged nonchalantly, shifting his grip so he held her a little tighter. "I wanted to surprise you."

She narrowed her eyes at him, fighting a smile. "Because you know how much I _hate _that?"

He nodded, eyes bright as he smiled at her. She opened her mouth to respond, but he suddenly began to move, spinning her around in a quick concession of circles around the hall, leading her into the sitting room. She laughed into the large, empty house, burying her head in his neck, gripping the back of his jacket.

"Alright, alright! Stop!" She said through bouts of uncontrollable hysterics, nails digging into his back, refusing to loosen her grip.

Dizzily, he stopped moving, stumbling slightly as he shook his head to regain his sense of coordination. Clarke looked up to meet him slowly, her hair swept over to her shoulder, and grin faltering as she took in their proximity.

She leaned her hand out slowly, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead, letting out an unsteady breath as her cool fingers met the fever of his skin. She trailed a single, pale finger down the side of his face, her touch ghosting over his cheeks.

She flicked her gaze to his lips, before drawing it unsteadily back to meet his eyes.

He was frozen, his eyes wide and confused as he stared at her blankly, beginning to angle his head slightly away from her. A choked breath escaped her lips, and she snatched her hand away as though he had burned her, her other hand reaching up to grab a fistful of his dark hair and _tug. _

His arms slipped away from her without hesitation, and she slid down his form, tripping slightly as she took a few steps backward, distancing herself from him.

They stared at each other across the space, both without any words left that could fill the empty void blossoming between them.

It was ridiculously awkward.

Saving either of them from further embarrassment, the front door groaned open, and Bellamy immediately recognised Octavia's excited chatter, mingled with some other voices he didn't recognize.

Clarke looked over to him and wordlessly brought her finger to her lips, shaking her head slightly. The message was clear enough.

_We tell no-one what the hell just happened._

He nodded back faintly, dragging his gaze away.

That hadn't gone like he'd expected it too.

Octavia blindly walked past the sitting room, friends trailing behind her, laughing. Bellamy waited for the realisation to hit. One by one, they began to trek backwards, just as they had passed out of view, until the all stood in the archway, staring at the two.

Octavia squealed loudly, rushing over to crush him into a hug. He laughed, squeezing her back, but keeping Clarke's gaze over her shoulder, and curtain of dark hair.

"Bell! I _knew _there was something you weren't telling me. _I knew it!" _She announced loudly, reaching up to smack him upside his head. He mocked a frown, lightly shoving her shoulder back as he leaned to rub the back of his head.

"I get back and the first thing you do is _abuse _me? You're a terrible sister." He said, pressing a hand to his heart if mock-hurt. She rolled her eyes as he did so, punching him easily in the shoulder.

"_That's _your history nerd brother?" Came a voice from the hall. The duo turned, as if just remembering the collection of teenagers behind them. Octavia grinned at the girl who had spoken, offering a light nod.

"Why did you not tell me he looked like _that?" _The same girl asked, tilting her head to the side as she gave Bellamy a thorough inspection, smirking as his eyebrows shot up in surprise at her boldness.

Octavia made a face, her features twisting unpleasantly as she turned to glare at the girl.

"Don't be fucking disgusting, Reyes. He's my brother you asshole. Plus, he's too old for you. It'd be like him and…" She wrinkled her nose, drifting off as she spoke.

"Him and _Clarke._ It's just wrong on so many levels." She finished, shuddering dramatically. Clarke suddenly seemed to choke on thin air, hunching over to catch her breath as she batted away her friends' sudden concern as they loomed over her.

Bellamy himself flushed, his tan cheeks filtering a dead-rose red, and he swallowed nervously, his short fingernails reaching to scratch at the back of his head, an unhelpable anxious tick.

"Jesus, Clarke are you alright?" Asked the tan-skin girl, placing a hesitant hand on her back. Clarke straightened slowly, not daring to catch Bellamy's eye across the room, nodding weakly.

"I'm fine, really, just a little winded is all." She explained slowly, carefully. Bellamy noticed the slight peak in her voice, her own tick.

She was lying, obviously.

Octavia looked between the two strangely, taking in the ever-present hitch in Clarke's unsteady breathing, and the noticeable tinge of red on Bellamy's cheeks, stretching down the back of his neck, drifting down his dark shirt. She cocked a single, dark eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the answer Clarke had given, finding the clear tension of the situation. However, the others, thankfully, seemed oblivious to the growing strain between the three.

"So, uh, O, you gonna make the introductions?" Asked a scrawny, dark haired boy, shooting Octavia a look that blinked on the verge of adoration. Bellamy caught his eye, cocking a dangerous eyebrow. The boy gulped, looking down.

"Oh, right, sure. Uh, Bellamy this is Raven," she gestured to the bold, pretty girl that had spoken, "Jasper," the boy that was clearly infatuated with his little sister, "Monty and Finn." She finished off, pointing to two boys with ebony-coloured hair in turn.

"Guys, this is my brother, Bellamy."

Bellamy nodded in recognition, earning a few cautious waves and a single wink from Raven. Octavia turned back to him, momentarily forgetting her suspicion.

"I wish you'd told me you were coming back today. I wouldn't have invited these dickheads over if I knew." She said wearily, her head drifting to fall on his shoulder. Her friends let out faux-outraged gasps, Monty's mouth falling open as he turned to the side, pressing a hand to his heart.

"You cut us deep, O." Jasper offered, blinking rapidly in an attempt to produce tears.

Octavia grinned into his shoulder.

"Do you want me to tell them to leave? I can totally do that. Go away." She turned her head on her last sentence, sparing them a single glance as she directed her order. They boo'ed theatrically, tutting in disbelief.

"O, it's fine. I'm here for a while yet. Go hang out with your friends." He said shrugging, his mother's green eyes blinking up at him.

"See? We even have big brother on our side." Raven called out, grinning.

"You shut your pervert mouth, Reyes." Octavia shot back a teasing smirk crawling across her lips as she addressed the girl. Raven rolled her eyes in response, though her own grin matched Octavia's.

Octavia spun back to Bellamy, tilting her head to the side as she looked at him.

"Are you sure, Bell? I mean, you just got back and I don't want you to feel like I'm ditching you or anything-"

Bellamy placed two reassuring hands on her shoulders, cutting her off.

"O, it's fine, seriously. You're not ditching me, because I want you to go and have fun. I promise I'll be here when you get back." He said, offering a quick upturn of ample lips. Truthfully, he was disappointed that she already had plans, but she shouldn't have to put it on hold for him.

"Alright, alright, starting to feel like a third wheel here. We leaving or not?" Raven asked, a hand on her hip.

Octavia beamed at her brother, her firm arms wrapping around his body as she squeezed his chest in a half-hug. She pulled back after a moment, kissing his cheek before walking over to the small group only just standing in the tiled hall.

"So fucking impatient. I just gotta get something and then we're leaving, alright?" She asked, bumping into Ravens shoulder as she went past, then laughing manically as the girl bolted after her up the twirling staircase.

The five left sat in a briefly heavy pause, each waiting for the other to break the spell of silence, though all reluctant to do so, with nothing left to say. Clarke, usually loud and cheery, a clearly noticeable presence, stood in utter silence, staring down at her shoes, biting down thoughtfully on her bottom lip until it blossomed a deep, rich red.

Bellamy blinked his gaze away as the two girls descended the staircase, holding a casual chat, in which Octavia managed to work at least three curse words into each sentence. Fifteen, and already she wore a mouth like a sailor (and she wore it proud).

"I'll see you later, guys!" She called cheerfully, grasping onto Jaspers collar as she pulled him out of the house, the others trailing behind them. Bellamy gave a short, quick wave, but Clarke only smiled a little in response, until the door slammed shut behind them, and the two were left in the silence of the large, echoing house.

It was, as it never had been with Clarke, a strained, slow silence. The kind in which their thoughts flew disastrously around the room, mutely crashing into every seen surface around, but their mouths sewn neatly shut, without the courage of voice to pull on the taunt ambience of the walls surrounding them.

Bellamy opened his mouth to speak, or whisper, or shout, to do _something _that would shatter this unbearable tension, but the tick of the front door lock beat him to it, seeming like a piercing screech through the unbroken quiet.

Abby and Jake drifted through the door, still in their scrubs and with a noticeable slump in their walk, but as they caught sight of him, their eyes lit up, rushing over to encase him in tender hugs, Abby pulling back to inspect his face for any blemishes or injuries (as she did every time he returned home).

The spent the rest of the afternoon talking idly, asking Bellamy about his classes, the people, and not-so-subtly suggesting he pick up a few biochemistry classes. He'd only grinned, shaking his head. He managed to forget about the earlier incident with Clarke as he chatted carelessly, even as she sat silently in front of him, picking at her bright blue nail polish.

As the sun drifted lazily down, swimming beneath the clouds easily, and slipping further still, until the blue of dusk penetrated the sky, accompanied by a gentle, twirling breeze, the family settled together in the sitting room, laughing and reminiscing as they huddled together. Octavia had returned a while ago, and for now, they enjoyed the simple comfort of another's company.

It also became much more difficult to notice Clarke's reluctance towards them, her enclosure within herself.

"Honey, are you all right? You've been quiet all day." Abby noted, reaching over to gently caress her daughters heard, her features pulled down in worry.

"I'm fine, just a little tired, mom." Clarke said back, avoiding Bellamy's gaze as she had been doing so for the rest of the evening.

"Well, why don't you go and get some rest baby? We've always got tomorrow." Jake said, grinning a sympathetic smile.

Clarke nodded, standing. "Yeah, uh, you're right. Night guys." She said, trailing towards the staircase without another word. They all called out their responses, Octavia offering a few choice words to which Clarke threw her the finger, and her parents tutting dramatically.

The remaining four opted to watch a movie, Octavia slipping 'The A-Team' into the D.V.D player happily, and popping enough popcorn to feed a lot more than four.

Still, about ten minutes to the film, Bellamy couldn't rid himself of that nagging feeling that was always there when he knew Clarke was upset, and he could talk to her about it. He tried to ignore it at first, which only resulted in his foot tapping furiously against the tiled floor until Octavia had threw popcorn at him, ordering him to be quiet because she _can't goddamn hear my favourite fucking movie over your crappy trainers. _

Eventually (five minutes later), Bellamy relented, heading to the staircase with only the short explanation of 'nature calls' to his family as they'd boo'ed as he blocked the screen.

He'd reached Clarke's door in little time, hesitating only as his fingertips had grazed over the brass handle. What if she really was tired? She might be sleeping – he didn't want to wake her. She'd been avoiding him the entire evening – did she even want to see him?

He shook himself after a moment, tapping out three knocks quickly, whereas he was answered with a distant 'come in'.

Opening the door, he found Clarke at her desk, typing furiously into her computer with her legs tucked neatly beneath her. She'd changed into some loose-fitting shorts and plain tank top, and even as he cleared his throat, showed no sign of having acknowledged his presence.

"Uh, hey." He said, punctuating his words with a slight wave, which he immediately regretted.

She spun around in her chair hastily, setting her hands on her knees as her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

"Hi."

Then came that same silence again, so thick that Bellamy wanted to tear through it.

He stepped forward, sighing.

"Listen, I know things are kind of… tense, but I really don't want them to be. What happened earlier, it was... a fluke, and misplaced, and I'm really sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, I think we were just caught up in the moment, and-"

She sighed heavily, taking two long strides across the room, to reach up and drag his face down to hers, silencing him as she kissed him.

Her lips moved harshly against his, her pale fingers reaching away from his face to grip his hair roughly, tugging on his curls as she had done so before.

She wound her body like a coil around his, pressing them together wherever there was a blink of space, and in a moment, he found his hands gripping at her waist, his own lips moving in sync against hers with the same intensity that she kissed him.

She bit on his bottom lip and he groaned, trying in vain to pull her tighter against him.

And then just like that he realised what he was doing, and ripped himself away from her, staggering backwards, stumbling over himself as he went.

"Wha- what are you _doing?_" He asked breathlessly, righting his balance.

"I thought it was pretty obvious." She sounded as breathless as he, but she still managed to work the sarcasm into her tone.

He shook his head, his eyes blown wide.

"Clarke, why did you do that?" It hadn't come out as steady as he'd hoped it would be.

"Also pretty obvious."

He glared at her.

She grinned.

"You can't- you can't do what you just did and not explain to me why the hell you did it."

She stepped closer to him, but he only shook his head, stepping back, wincing against the flash of hurt in her eyes.

"We can't."

She narrowed her eyes. "Well why the hell not?" She asked, placing her hands dangerously low on her hips.

"Clarke you're _sixteen. _You're a teenager and I'm, I'm a grown fucking man." He shook his head once again, resigned. "It's not right."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. "You're twenty, Bellamy, and you're my best friend. I trust you more than anyone, so what's so goddamn wrong with me kissing you?" She asked, proceeding to move closer to him, her bare feet padding against her burgundy carpet.

"And just so we're completely clear, I might have kissed you first, but you certainly didn't seem to mind that much kissing me back." He stood with his back straight against the shut door, Clarke staring up at him, pressing her body against his once more.

He pulled himself away from her, standing to the side and supressing a groan at the loss of contact. He hadn't looked at her like that before. Sure, she was beautiful, that much a blind man could see, but over the years she'd slipped into more of a little sister category, someone to protect and love, but from afar.

Now he couldn't _stop _looking at her the way he'd caught the Collins kid looking at her.

But he couldn't. He couldn't want her, or need her or love her the way she wanted him to. It'd only ever end badly, and honestly, she deserved better than someone she saw every six months or so, someone who would never be able to provide for her. It was no hidden truth that Griffin's had money, and while he loved them, that wasn't his money, and it never would be. Clarke deserved someone that could provide for her off their own back, not her own parents money. She deserved _better._

And she'd have it. But it'd never be with him.

"I don't see you like that, Clarke." He forced out, hand fitting on the brass handle. "I never have, and I never will." It sounded so much like a promise that he nearly choked.

"I'm sorry if you've misread some things, but that's all that's been going on here." He opened the door, ready to step out when her words stopped him.

"You're lying." Her voice cracked, and Bellamy fought not to turn back and hold her to him tightly.

"You've been my best friend from the day I was born, Bellamy. I _always_ know when you're lying."

His fingers curled into a fist, and as he turned to look at her, taking in her swollen lips and bright eyes, he found his next words were difficult to force, the bitter and breaking words they were.

"Then I guess you don't know me as well as you thought you did."

He closed the door in time to hear her first sob sound behind him.

He left early that summer.

Clarke never said goodbye.

His visits home went like this.

First, he'd make the introductory hugs, for which Clarke never seemed to be around.

Then, he'd tell them about his classes and how everything was going, to which Clarke always seemed to work in a sarcastic comment, or at the very least, a single scoff at his expense.

After he'd ask them about everything, never growing tired of Abby and Jake's horror stories from the hospital, or Octavia's snarky comments about, well, most things, really.

Clarke would never participate much in these discussions. She was cold and distant whenever Bellamy came to stay, and while he could not hold her accountable for it, it never lessened the pain when she'd offer only blank silence when he tried to talk to her, or a turn of the head when he tried to hold her gaze.

Then they'd traipse out of the house to either book movie tickets or grab some food. Either way, they'd make a day of it, and the day never disappointed.

Finally, when they got home, they'd collapse on the couch, laugh a little longer, maybe get slightly tipsy (Octavia and Clarke would sneak sips of Abby's wine and Jake's beer, while the two in question remained completely oblivious), before dropping off into a dead sleep in their own beds.

Bellamy could never stay too long, but over the months, he became more and more grateful for that, if it meant not having to see Clarke's face fall when she looked at him.

But you see, that was over the _months. _

Clarke had been mad at him for two fucking _years._

And it _sucked _because she'd been playing on his mind for two goddamn years, and whenever she looked at him, she looked at him like she'd only just remembered who he was, and he was of that little vitality to her, that she'd almost stopped caring.

_Almost._

She wouldn't be mad at him still if she'd stopped caring.

… Right?

Bellamy sighed, fiddling with the sleeve of his graduation gown, catching his reflection in the mirror. Lincoln was behind him, shrugging on his gown and pulling his cap on over his head, smirking as he caught Bellamy looking at himself in the mirror.

"You look very pretty, Blake. Now, c'mon, we're gonna be late!" He rushed, clapping Bellamy on the back as he went past. Bellamy sighed, pulling his cap on over his head and rushing after him, only managing to not just trip over the gown as he bolted down the stairs.

He loved Abby and Jake, he really did, but he was beginning to seriously doubt their party-throwing skills.

They'd stuffed him into a suit, buttoned it up so tight that he couldn't find his own breath, and to finish the ensemble, had even added a bow tie. They'd even managed to tame his unruly curls, slicking back his hair neatly with untold amounts of hair gel, until it seemed to sink into his scalp.

Well, he said _they_… (Jake had burst into laughter the second he'd caught sight of him, reaching over and clutching his stomach while both Abby and Bellamy had glared at him – he'd only laughed harder.)

Now, he stood in the centre of the room, holding a small glass of disgusting champagne, while people he didn't know came up to congratulate him on his graduation, most dressed as ridiculously as he.

Perhaps the only comfort in it all was that Lincoln and Murphy were there too, albeit completely out of place in their simple black jeans and tee shirts, looking as lost as he felt surrounded by the sea of unknown people – mostly Abby and Jake's friends.

Murphy had punched him harshly in the arm when the two had arrived, announcing pointedly that this was not a _party, _this was a _dinner. _

Bellamy had weakly replied that technically they were only eating appetizers.

His two friends had looked at each other for a moment, sharing a withered look, then had taken an arm each, punching hard enough to leave bruises.

Bellamy had then shoved away from them in order for food, and promising to find them something stronger than champagne when he ran into Jake, quite literally, and struck up a short conversation, where they'd found their way to the topic of Clarke.

"Hey, where is she tonight? Isn't this supposed to be a party for her too?" Bellamy asked, feigning some disinterest, while he awaited the answer keenly.

Jake sighed, shaking his head. "Clarke's been, well she's been distant lately. You tell her the sky's blue and she'll fight you on it." Jake took a sip of his drink, leaning against the table. "She disappeared before the first guest arrived, before you even arrived, Octavia in tow. I don't know what's wrong, but she won't talk to us." Jake's voice dropped to a whisper, ushering Bellamy a little closer. "She's been a right little fucker."

Bellamy laughed aloud, leaning away from Jake, and surveying the sad scene in front of him.

"Get out of here." Jake said, a small smile having crept onto his lips. Bellamy looked at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"What?"

"Change out of that monkey suit, grab your uncomfortable-looking friends, and get out of here." Jake said slowly, bumping his shoulder into Bellamy's.

"But Abby-"

"I'll take care of her. It's your graduation day, Bell, you deserve a little fun." He said sympathetically, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying-"He began, feeling guilty already.

"Yeah you do. Get out of here, Bell, seriously. I think your aunts gonna have a hernia over your friends." He said, noting over to where Abby stood directly across from Murphy and Lincoln, seething as the two laughed a little too loud.

Bellamy grinned at the sight, and hugged his uncle in thanks, jogging over to deliver the good news.

The bright green neon sign flickered optimistically down at him, outlined in a blinding yellow.

"Grounders… really?" Murphy asked, flicking his eyebrows at Lincoln's choice in club life. Lincoln glared at him, his hands resting on his hips.

"Listen bitch, my graduation, my decision." Lincoln shot back, a grin already seeping onto his lips as he joined on at the edge of the queue. Murphy threw his head back with a groan at the length of the line, but Bellamy shrugged, grinning as he nudged Murphy's shoulder, trailing after Lincoln.

"We all graduated asshole!" Murphy called after him, though grudgingly following after Bellamy.

They stood in line for about ten minutes, whereas it remained as packed and tight as ever, until Lincoln caught sight of someone at the front of the line, and a devilish smirk slipped easily onto his lips as he looked at Murphy.

"Hey Murphy. Do you know who's over there? Right at the front of the queue?" He asked, much to Murphy's confusion.

Murphy looked around his broad shoulder, then groaning as he saw who Lincoln was referring to.

"Lincoln don't you fucking dare-"

"HEY EMORI! EMORI!" Lincoln shouted, keeping his gaze trained on Murphy for a moment, before swivelling around and darting through the queue to the girl in question, who had secured a place up front.

Murphy cursed, bolting after Lincoln in an attempt to quieten his constant cries of the girls name, but Bellamy only laughed, offering a few apologies as he pushed past the hoards surrounding him.

Bellamy stopped beside Murphy, only a little out of breath, as Emori smirked at the boy opposite her, her dark eyes flashing something dangerous.

"Miss me already, John?" She asked, her head to the side, as she crossed her arms deftly across her chest. The action had clearly had its required effect when his eyes fixed on her chest obviously, and she found her own triumphant grin.

"Clearly. That's why I was trying to get Lincoln _before _he could talk to you. No, yeah, that makes perfect sense."

Emori narrowed her eyes.

"Fuck you."

"Eh. Maybe later."

The two stood staring off at each other, a furious scowl bathing Emori's features, while Murphy only smirked at her, dropping a wink.

Lincoln pressed a hand to his chin, looking between the two, dissatisfied.

"I just want you to know that your sexual tension disgusts me." Lincoln said, so unashamed that Bellamy found himself choking on air as he attempted to reign in his laughter as the two fixed Lincoln in place with little more than a withering glare.

For some reason, Emori didn't order the three to leave her alone, and instead let them wait with her a little longer, despite her constant bicker with John and occasional remark from Lincoln about the relationship, until they finally reached the door, flashing their I.D's.

As they were bustled into the stifling, swarming heat of the place, however, it became less of a mystery, as he noticed Murphy's hand tucked neatly into the back pocket of Emori's shorts, and the way her head had seemed to fall on her shoulder. He'd learnt not to question the complexity of their relationship, but even now, he shook his head in disbelief.

The four dropped onto bar stools and, clearly tired of being somewhat subtle, Murphy pulled Emori into his lap with a gentle tug (he could be a dick, but, even if he wasn't ready to admit it, he loved Emori), while Lincoln called out an order for four glasses of bourbon.

Bellamy grinned as the glass was slammed down in front of him, clinking it against the others with cheer, though wincing as the drink seared down his throat with ease.

"Hey Bellamy?" Emori called over the music, pulling away from Murphy for only a second as her gaze pierced through someone on the dancefloor.

"Yeah?"

"Isn't that your little sister? Over there, with Clarke?" She nodded in direction, and Bellamy's head whipped around instantly, catching sight of the quick twirl of blonde and brown as the girls danced around the room, passing by partners quickly, until they fell into the arms of what looked to be Jasper and Monty.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. What the fuck were they doing here? They were both too young for this club, which meant they had to have fake I.D.'s on hand. And what were they _wearing? _Octavia had squeezed herself into a tight-fitting black dress, showing off more than Bellamy was comfortable seeing his little sister in, and Clarke was wearing ripped high-waist shorts that fitted along her upper thigh, her slender legs moving with ease around the room, and had paired it with a loose-fitting green camisole, her arms lifted above her head as she twirled along the dancefloor.

He was uncomfortable with the way she looked for an entirely _different _reason.

Bellamy slammed his glass down, shrugging off Lincoln's arm on his shoulder, and began working through the crowds, following the blink of blonde hair and the laugh he hadn't heard for two years (and how he'd missed it).

Monty saw him coming before Clarke did, and stayed rooted in place as his large frame had approached, suddenly going very pale. Clarke's head darted round, and he tried to step past the slight falter in his walk as he took note of what he hadn't been able to see far away.

She was only-slightly flushed, her cheeks a rising crimson, but he wasn't looking at that. Her eyes seemed bigger, bolder, brighter and her lips seemed pulled into a perfect, frozen smile, red like wine, like she'd been biting at them hopelessly.

He stopped in front of her, seething.

"Clarke. What are you doing?" He asked, indignant at her presence at the suddenly sleazy-seeming club. Her eyes slipped into slits at the biding fury in his tone.

"I thought it was pretty obvious." She shot back, but this time, Bellamy didn't wince underneath the weight of her words.

"You and Octavia can't be here, Clarke, you know that. You could get into a lot of trouble for this." He said, his voice low in warning as he gripped her arm.

"What does it matter, Bellamy? You know, I am just so tired, of being so goddamn careful all the time. So perfect." She pulled her arm roughly out of his grasp. "Maybe I'm done with perfect." She announced loudly, catching the attention of a dancing Octavia and Jasper next to her.

"Clarke, what are you-"Octavia trailed off as she saw Bellamy's looming presence, gulping audibly.

"Oh."

Bellamy spared her a glance of disappointment, shaking his head at the seventeen year old.

"And the best way to do that is to get yourself, your friends and _my _little sister arrested? And here's me thinking you were smart." He bit back, turning back to face her.

She was staring at him with a mix of emotions that seemed to seclude him from the roar of the music, the anxious glances her friends were shooting them. Oh she was angry, but there was something else there, swimming just beneath the surface though she tried desperately to hide it.

Hurt.

"I guess you don't know me as well as you thought you did." She tossed back, shrugging through a single, unflinching bark of laughter.

Lincoln had followed Bellamy through the crowds, and now rested a hand on his shoulder, though Bellamy refused to tear his gaze away from Clarke. She scoffed, shaking her head as she shoved past him, slipping right through his fingertips.

Bellamy clenched his fist, a strained breath tumbling past his lips, but he turned to Lincoln, already preparing to follow after Clarke.

"Take them home, Linc. I'm gonna go make sure she doesn't do anything stupid." He turned to his sister, finding her head having dropped down in shame. "We're gonna talk about this, Octavia." He promised, setting off through the swarm of people.

Clarke was good at disappearing in crowds. When she was little, she'd always liked to wander around, which would supply her parents with a constant stream of worry, as she was always excellent in being able to hide in plain sight. Bellamy would always find her though, even if she wasn't hiding.

He found her now, hanging over the bar as she ordered a drink, oblivious to the flirty grin on the bartenders face, and how he feigned not being able to hear her order, so she'd lean just that little bit closer, and his eyes would wander down her shirt.

Bellamy stalked over, yanking her away from the man.

"Clarke, we're going home. This place isn't good for you." He yelled over the music, dragging her towards to the exit.

She dug her feet firmly into the ground, slapping away his grip on her arm. "You're not my fucking keeper Bellamy. I'm not a little girl anymore, you can't tell me what to do." She stepped closer, seeming as though she might just rip apart at the seams from the fury that radiated from her.

"Well, you're acting like one. Seems only fair I should treat you like one." He shrugged, moving to slip his hands around her, and hoist her weight easily over his shoulder. She screamed, her fists beating harshly against his back, her nails cutting it deep enough to draw blood.

He groaned in pain, and made a quick exit, depositing her into the street, ignoring the trickle of blood seeping through his shirt.

"What the fuck is your _problem_?" She raved, the memory of her nails tearing through his skin as painful as the cut itself.

"I did you a favour, Clarke. That wasn't a good place." He said back, incredulous.

"Oh, well, you'd know." She spat back.

"What's going on? This isn't you, Clarke." He said quietly, stepping towards her. She placed her hands up, a barrier between them.

"You haven't known me for the last two years, Bellamy. So don't pretend to now." She held his gaze steady, no quiver as she spoke, pushing the dagger through his back.

"I've known you your entire life," he began, the intensity in his eyes as bright as hers, "I know that you refuse to eat any type of vegetable without less than a litre of gravy. I know that you didn't learn how to plait your hair until you were fifteen, and you were so ashamed about it that you called yourself 'a disgrace to women everywhere'."

She turned her head, bit back a smile.

"I know that your favourite movie is _Zombieland _and that you watch it every single Halloween, without fail. I know that you hate thunderstorms. I know that you want people to respect you for you, not just because you're the daughter of Abby and Jake Griffin. And for some, insane reason, I know you'd rather live in a tiny, damp, generally awful, apartment if it meant that you could pay for it without relying on your parents."

She laughed a little, laughed through the tears that had begun to fall.

"I have known you, your entire life, Clarke Griffin. So do not doubt, that because you stopped speaking to me, I ever stopped caring. Do not think that the love I have you is so insignificant that it would be that easy to get rid of. Never do that. Never think I could ever stop knowing you, because to know you is to love you. And I'm damned with that forever."

She sobbed, and he finally, _finally, _wrapped her in a warm embrace, holding her tight against him as though he could protect her against the tears that painted her own cheeks. Her head fell to his shoulder, her arms shaking against his neck. He soothed her gently, like all those times he'd done so before.

Then just like that, she was Clarke again.

She laughed and teased and hugged and it was hard to believe that he'd ever held her sobbing in his arms, though deadly silent about the cause of said tears.

He'd approached the subject a few times, with the same caution you approach a sleeping mountain lion, but her answers had been short and vague, unwilling to surrender any real truths, and he'd quickly learned to drop the subject when she'd shoot him warning looks.

However, it turned out the truth would come to him, when he entered through the front door, arm in arm with Octavia, laughing over terrible jokes (he'd forgiven her around the twentieth apology – well he'd forgiven her at the first, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to make her work for it), and he heard the raucous shouts from the kitchen.

The siblings shared a look, before they rushed into the house, slamming the door shut behind them.

They skidded into the kitchen, where Abby stood stiffly, Clarke directly in front of her, screaming at each other. They took no notice of the siblings.

"Because it is _my _choice, mom. You get that? MINE. You don't get to decide for me!" Clarke stated to her mother, her face a furious red.

"You don't know what you want, Clarke. You're eighteen years old and you're just, you're just a little confused." She said back, a little breathless.

"I'm not confused! I'm old enough to make my own decisions. I don't want to be a doctor! I want to be an artist! I want to spend my life doing something that I love, and medical school is the furthest thing from that – I promise you."

Bellamy began to feel as though he were encroaching on territory he shouldn't have, and he began to back out of the room, but was stopped by Octavia's hand on his arm, her minute shake of the head.

"You can't spend your life chasing down a fruitless dream, I won't let that happen to you." Abby was stern, her voice drifting lower as she stared at her daughter.

Clarke's voice turned bitter. "Just because you wasted your life doesn't mean I'll waste mine."

And then, just like that, Clarke's cheek had blossomed a stinging red, her face pulled taunt to the side, and the crack of skin on skin contact was bouncing around the brick walls, Abby raising a hand to her mouth and pulling her hand away.

Bellamy and Octavia had shouted as Abby had smacked her, come to stand at her sides. Bellamy met her eye line, saw the fierce determination there.

Without looking at her mother, Clarke said, "I guess that's what bitterness feels like." And left the room quickly, her mother saying nothing to stop her.

Clarke left for art school two months later.

Abby stopped talking about Clarke a year later.

Jake never did.

Bellamy lay in Clarke's dorm room, blinking up at the stick-on stars, and pondering with his thoughts.

It was her birthday, her twentieth birthday, and were it not for him, she'd be spending it alone.

Abby refused to see her daughter, avoiding any mention of her when she could. Bellamy didn't know if it was guilt, or anger, or bitterness over the fact her daughter was chasing her dreams in a way that Abby had never been brave enough to, but it was toxic, severing the bond spent eighteen years building up, and hurting both parties.

Jake loved his daughter, and her choice of schooling had never affected that, but it was no secret that the dismissing of Clarke and Abby's relationship had left strain on theirs. He loved his wife, but in equal measure loved his daughter, and there was no way he could please them both without hurting the other. He was stuck. He'd had plans to come and see Clarke today, to celebrate her birthday, but being a doctor could be an unpredictable job, and Jake had been buried in work so deep he hadn't been able to get away to see her.

The guilt of it had consumed him, the fact that he hadn't been able to come and see his daughter on the day where she perhaps missed him most was a crushing weight that Bellamy knew he was having trouble bearing, but there was little to be done on the matter.

Octavia had felt the guilt on a similar level, but she was away at college, and she'd been struggling with classes, which meant she couldn't just up and leave. She'd been in tears as she explained to Clarke over Skype, but the older girl had assured her she'd understood.

Which was how it came to be, that Bellamy was the only available one on the day of Clarke's twentieth birthday, because he had little of a life, unsure of how to spend the rest of his time after college, and the seeming break-up of his family.

Clarke shouldered the door open, tossing a Twinkie to Bellamy, which he caught deftly out of the air. His mouth fell open.

"Holy shit. Did you see that?" He asked, his head popping up as she threw a carrier bag to the side of the room.

"See what?" She asked, jumping up on the bed to lie next to him.

"My catch. I think it's the most amazing thing I've ever done."

"Well, it's not like that's a hard thing to beat." She chuckled, even as he knocked his shoulder into hers playfully, his lips pulled down in a teasing frown.

"Hey, are you sure this is how you wanna spend your birthday? Gorging on Twinkies with me in your dorm room?" He asked, sobering quickly and twisting his head to the side to look at her.

She lifted her feet in the air, pointing towards the stars, but didn't turn to look at him.

"I'm always here for Twinkies." She replied easily, an easy grin having already fell onto her lips. He placed a hand to his heart in mock hurt, prompting another laugh from the girl beside him.

"Honestly, I think this is exactly what I need right now." She grinned at him, moving to rest her head on his shoulder, her legs tangling with his.

He pretended that he didn't feel the shifting of her hips as they rocked slightly against his, the smoothness of her bare calf as it settled on his jeans. He pretended that the smell of her fruity shampoo wasn't the most delicious aroma ever concocted, purely because it was on her, her golden curls brushing against his neck. His fingers curled into a fist beside him, fighting this desire she lit.

"Hey Bell?"

"Hm?"

"Do you ever wonder why we're not in love?"

Oh, but he was. He was so desperately, hopelessly, so needy in love with her. He'd been denying it for years, fighting against it, this love that seemed so impure, so empty without her to share the weight it held. The memory of her kiss burned like a fever, and since her lips had fell from his he'd been left wanting of them again, of her body fit against his in a way that no other could. He was in love with his best friend, and her words struck like glass against him, because she wasn't in love with him.

"We love each other, don't we?" He choked out, short nails digging further into his flesh.

"Yeah, but we're not _in love _with each other. I think I thought I was once." His heart beat so loudly he was afraid she'd hear it.

"When I was sixteen, and I, I, uh, I kissed you. I thought I was in love with you then, and for two years after. But it couldn't have been love, because, well, because it was you, I guess."

Her words cut him deep enough to scar, deep enough for blood to drip from his hand.

He was in love with her, and she was painfully oblivious.

(Later, when Bellamy feels a little less like he wants to jump from the roof of a sixty storey building, he takes Clarke to the park, and they keep their lame tradition alive.)

He knew it'd happen eventually, he knew she'd find someone to love, he just didn't expect it to hurt quite so much.

His name is Finn, and Bellamy hates him pointlessly. He is cultured, intelligent, and a seemingly good person, treating Clarke like the princess he knows she is, and honestly, it's everything Bellamy ever wanted for her, or he did want for her, five years ago.

He still wants her to be happy. He just wants her to be happy _with him._

When Clarke introduces the two, Bellamy forces a puppeteers smile, he is civil, he laughs at all the right times, and he manages to not rip away the kids hands whenever he puts them on Clarke's waist.

Honestly, he's proud of himself.

They settle over a dinner, him, Octavia, Clarke and Finn, and he manages to keep the charade up for the entire night, even if it means he stays relatively quiet. Clarke nudges him under the table, her brow creasing in worry as it has been doing so for a while now whenever Finn's around, but it doesn't feel the same. He can't allow himself to fall into a world with her when she's creating one with someone else.

After the meal, Clarke and Finn leave first, and Bellamy realises just how little time they've spent together lately, how the time seems to be drifting away from them, slotting into place with her and Finn instead. He hugs her for just a little too long and just a little too tightly so that when Finn helps her into her coat, he flashes Bellamy a look of apprehension.

A look of warning.

Octavia's head falls onto his shoulder, and she looks up at him with knowing eyes.

"I wish you didn't love her so much, Bell."

And she sighs like he is a hopeless case, too far gone and he knows he is, because he's watching her leave and wanting nothing more than the privilege to hold her hand, and to love her without resignation, without having to conceal it beneath his jokes and smiles.

He loves her, that much is true, but he wishes he didn't.

(That much is truer.)

He's the one to tell her that her father's dead.

It happens as Bellamy sleeps, the death of the man who'd been more of a father in his life that he ever could have asked for, ever hoped for.

Abby calls him first from the hospital, and she's crying over the phone before she utters a single word, wailing as he's never heard her before, a wreck of uncontrollable pain stuttering down the phone.

He doesn't reply, couldn't hope to, but he listens to her talk, he listens to her tell him that Jake had been overworking himself lately, that he'd been throwing himself into the job because they'd been having problems. Fighting, shouting, screaming at another. This much Bellamy knows, having still live in the house with them, and making himself scarce whenever the arguments started. Apparently Jake had followed suit, working late-nights at the hospital, accompanied by long days. He hardly ever slept, which was probably why he began drifting at the wheel, just long enough to lose focus, and swerve into a truck.

Abby had already been at the hospital when they'd brought him in, just getting ready to go back home when the ambulance had announced him.

He'd never stood a chance.

Bellamy mumbled a few incoherent things into the phone before ending the call, and curling himself into a ball, for ten isolated minutes, he cries. He weeps for the man he's lost, howls for the man he never spent enough time with, not nearly enough time, near the end.

She'd finished with college, and had been renting a tiny, shoebox apartment with Finn, and already knows the address off by heart when he staggers to her front door. He'd stopped crying, but the evidence of his tears still rubbed on his cheeks.

Clarke answers the door wearily, and it's all he can do to not break down himself as he tells her.

She tries to hold herself together, tries to pull taunt the stiches of herself, but then his voice breaks and his own eyes water, and she falls into his arms hopelessly, sobbing and shaking her head as she refuses to acknowledge his words.

They walk to the hospital together, at 2.a.m, and mother and daughter seem to forget, at least for now, that their relationship was in tatters only a day ago, as they find comfort in each other's arms.

Bellamy and Clarke fall asleep together in a stiff hospital chair, their grief speaking louder than words ever could.

Jake's funeral is as quiet as his mothers had been, without even Finn in attendance.

It is their family only, smaller and quieter without him.

Things move on.

Abby learns to smile a little more, even as she runs delicate fingertips along the edge of Jake's picture and buys tulips for his grave. She is adamant she will not learn to love again without him, but she is happy in her independence.

Octavia graduates and they are all there at her ceremony. She finds a place to rent afterwards, and decides to pursue photography, a career she finds she holds immense skill in. She even gets a boyfriend (Jasper, Bellamy remembers his name was – he'd only had a minor heart attack when she'd told him).

Clarke and Finn were in their own world of bliss, with their careers booming, and still going strong as a couple, it seemed everyone in his family was happy.

Everyone but him.

He had a degree but no idea what to do with it. He was blinking on thirty, with still little ideas what he wanted to do with himself, what career he wanted to obtain, what he wanted to achieve in whatever time he had left.

There had been only one thing in his life that he had been sure he wanted, the one thing for which he'd never hoped for change, and she was engaged to another man.

So Bellamy pursued the one talent he had left – drinking to excess.

He holed up in a gritty bar, ordering drink after drink until his vision blurred and it suddenly seemed like an _excellent _idea to try and fight that chair.

Because that c_hair _was laughing at him because he'd been in love with the same girl for ten fucking years, and he'd still done nothing to act on his feelings.

Well he'd show the bloody chair.

Bellamy stumbled off his stool, giggling to himself as he caught side of his feet. He had biiiiiiiig feet. Wait, what was he doing again?

Oh, right, right, Clarke.

He drifted drunkenly through the streets, shouting at the sky because _I'm going I'm going stop looking at me like that you.. you ugly. _

He pounded on the green door, slithering up and down the side of it, calling Clarke's name through it.

She opened the door, amusement written plainly on her face.

"Daylight drinking, Bell? Tsk, tsk." She said, laughing he swatted at her face, opening the door so he could drift inside. He slammed into the brown couch, falling over as he did so.

Clarke laughed harder, sitting cross legged in front of him.

"So, do what do I owe the pleasure of this vis-"

"I'm in love with you." His words slurred slightly, and his vision blurred, but he managed to get the sentence out. Clarke stared at him, the playful grin fallen away from her lips.

"What?"

"I. Am. In love. With. You." He punctuated his sentence by pointing at her as he spoke the last word.

"You're drunk, Bellamy."

"Drunk in looove." He shot back, shuffling closer to her. She didn't laugh and he frowned, he didn't like it when he couldn't make her laugh.

"You don't know what you're saying."

He nodded vigorously. "I do, I do know what I'm saying. I promise. It's the truth it just doesn't sound like it because I'm, I'm slightly tipsy right now."

Clarke was staring at him again, but she seemed to shake out of it, with a slight shake of the head.

"You're not in love with me, Bell."

"DON'T TELL ME HOW TO FEEEEEL." He shouted angrily.

"I have loved you, loved you lots and lots, for ten whole years. But I thought you were too good for me and I didn't want to disappoint you, ha disappoint that's a funny word – NO! TELL HER BELLAMY!" He ordered to himself.

"I thought you deserved better than me and I still do. I really really realllllllly do, but I am in love with you and I want to marry you and make tiny Blake babies with you." He giggled.

"Tiny Blake babies."

She was still staring at him, her mouth tipped slightly open and her eyebrows stretching high on her head. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out, only a single, strangled breath as her bright blue eyes continued to focus on him.

Until finally, she spoke, her voice quiet.

"You- you love me?"

He nodded, his eyes falling shut, before they flew open suddenly, a goofy grin on his face.

"I can prove it!" He said triumphantly, quickly leaning in to kiss her. She made a startled noise in the back of her throat, but he caressed his lips against hers so that she moaned, reaching up the tangle her fingers in his hair.

He smiled, content against her lips, before dropping his head, and settling it into her lap, curling his body around her as she stroked his hair gently, soothing him like all the times he'd done so for her.

There wasn't too much to it after that.

It takes a week, a whole week, for Clarke to end her relationship with Finn, and a whole _month _to start one with Bellamy.

They try to be discreet at first, subtle touches in public, the occasional flirty grin, but then Bellamy runs into Echo, and Clarke decides that she doesn't like the way Echos' hand looks on Bellamy's arm, and she kisses him in front of say, a hundred people, and suddenly their relationship is not so secret anymore.

Octavia cheers when she finds out, and Abby tries to be stern, she really does, but she eventually ends up asking them what took them so long.

There is no perfect harmony to their relationship, nor, later on, their marriage, but it doesn't matter, because they love each other too much and have waited far too long to walk away from one another.

So they never do.

They settle together in an apartment, and Bellamy becomes a lecturer, Clarke a freelance artist. He proposes to her during sex, their first time, because it is then and there he decides that now he's had her, he couldn't bear to ever let her go again.

They marry in the spring, where Clarke wears a simple gown and Bellamy a simple suit, and the simplicity of their wedding is what they find the most beautiful about it.

(Octavia does the pictures, of course.)

They teach their children about their horribly lame tradition, and carry it through the years. Even as their bones turn brittle and age seeps in, they find a swing, and they do just that.

They are perfect in a way that no but them can see, and they see it well.

It ends like this.

Their youthful days have passed by now, and there is little of Clarke's golden curls left, having met with a dull grey. Bellamy's hair fades to the same shade, its unruliness finally tamed.

They're together when it happens, as they have been for their entire lives. They're tangled in red and blue sheets, as well as each other, secluded in a deep sleep though still joined in every way they can be.

Clarke's head is pressed into his shoulder, and her feet sit atop of his, hair nudging his neck. He has an arm wrapped around her stomach, holding her as close to him as he can, without hurting her in any way.

The two dreamt of stories, as they always did.

The story was of a knight and a princess.

How the knight loved his princess, and he'd do anything for her.

_(Anything?_

_Anything.)_


End file.
